


Keep Me Sane

by Inu_Sama



Series: WALKING DEAD FICS [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gun Violence, M/M, Mental Instability, Psychopaths In Love, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Sporadic Updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: Rick chose to ignore the alarming amount of blood that had dried on the pavement beneath his feet.He had to keep moving, that was the only way he could think of handling what he had just seen and what it implied.





	1. Bodies, Everywhere

Rick woke slowly, his senses returning one by one. 

The warmth of a Kentucky summer settling on his skin, the soft breeze that tickled his dark hair and brought with it the stench of something pungent, like  _ decay _ ? 

Rick sat bolt upright and looked around the dusty hospital room. 

“What…..” his voice came out barely above a whisper, starting a fire in his throat. 

God, he was so  _ thirsty _ ! Absently ripping the empty IV drip from his hand and pulling the respirator off his face, he pulled his shockingly thin body to the edge of the soiled bed. 

Rick winced,  _ ‘how long had I been stuck like that, laying in my own filth?’ _ He asked himself and the silent room both, not really expecting an answer. 

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it did make him really take notice how dead the silence in the room and beyond actually was.  

He’d been in hospitals before, for broken arms and the like when he was young. They were never quiet like this, even at night there would still have been nurses and such bustling about the place.

It was wrong and made a small knot of dread twist in the pit of Rick’s stomach. The fire in his throat increased with urgency, breaking him out of his thoughts. Right, water. 

The linoleum was painfully cold on his feet despite the obvious presence of summer in the air. Getting up on shaky legs, Rick shuffled his way over to the toilet.

He needed to use any and all objects to keep himself upright with how weak he was. 

Rick was thankful the door was already ajar. Suddenly desperate, he turned on the tap and gulped down handfuls of water until it felt like he was going to be sick. 

Only then did he scrub sleep from his eyes and looked up into the mirror. The man Rick saw was one he hardly recognised. 

A salt and pepper beard covered most of his lower face, making him look wild and deranged. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face looked sunken in.

His hair, now touching his shoulders, clung to his ears and forehead and the nape of his neck. It curled at the tips like it had when Rick was a child and refused to go to a hairdresser for months. 

He couldn’t remember why, though. 

Probably something stupid, like he was afraid his ear would get chopped off if he didn’t hold perfectly still. 

His eyes were still a greyish blue, the same colour as Carl’s…..Carl. Suddenly everything came crashing back to him, talking in the squad car with Shane, getting that call, being shot…. 

It was like the world was in focus for the first time in a long time. Rick felt the right side of his chest with numb fingers to find an old gauze hanging on by a thread. 

With a grimace he peeled it off, not daring to look at it and stared down at the raised circular scar. It had streaks spreading out from it, like a starburst. 

It was probably the shrapnel, he realised, it  _ was  _ a shotgun that he was tagged with after all. Rick staggered out of the bathroom and over to the door that led out into the hallway. 

The handle jiggled and the door clicked open but it wouldn’t budge further than a few inches. 

It was just enough to get his arm through, and with blind exploration for a few seconds through the gap he was able to determine what was blocking the way; a bed. 

That was another strike to add to the growing list of things that were wrong. 

A thought itched at the back of Rick’s mind when another bout of dead air hit him as he finally shoved the door open all the way. 

What he saw only confirmed what his gut was saying. The shit  _ had  _ hit the fan, well and truly. The roof looked like it would collapse on top of him, it sighed with every movement of the wind outside. 

Lights with exposed wires hung at odd angles from the high ceiling, flickering ominously in the dark and quiet atmosphere. 

There were papers, and other medical supplies strewn about, other beds stained with bodily fluids Rick didn’t really want to think about too much right now, had been pushed haphazardly through the small space. 

The dread in the pit of his stomach grew with every step Rick took. The hallway looked to be straight out of a horror movie, only this was real. 

It was when he turned a corner that the stench of viscera became overwhelming to the point Rick ended up emptying the minimal contents of his stomach onto the once sterile linoleum. 

Thankfully he had managed to bend over and turn away so it wasn’t all over the sweat-stained gown he wore. 

_ ‘When was the last time I ate?’ _ He thought to himself, at once both worried and disgusted at the clear liquid on the ground in front of him. 

It had obviously been a while if Rick’s stomach was completely empty of anything other than acid and the water he’d drunk earlier. 

If that was the case it had likely been only a few weeks since he was shot. 

That comforted him somewhat, as it meant there was a chance Lori and Carl were still back at the house. 

Eventually he reached a door with the words “DON’T DEAD, OPEN INSIDE” and he stared at it, confused until he realised he’d read it wrong. 

He chuckled to himself, cutting off abruptly as hollow moans and snarls greeted him when he stepped a little too close out of naive curiosity. 

Pale, long fingered hands shot out, almost grabbing him with frightening accuracy. Rick tried his hardest not to abandon all his dignity and run back to his hospital bed, wishing he could wake up from this…. this  _ nightmare _ . 

The unclipped nails scratched meekly at the plank of wood that was helping hold the door closed. 

A second, darker set of fingers teased the bike chain looped over the handles of the double door. Rick tried not to think about how many were in there as he backed away, the rest of his body slowly catching up with his racing heart as it filled with adrenaline. 

In a burst of energy he spun and ran off down another corridor, the rattling of chains seemed to follow him even though he could no longer hear the growls. 

_ 'What  _ were  _ they? What the hell happened while I was asleep?!' _

His horror only grew when he managed to get to the ground level using the pitch black stairwell, navigating with a pack of matches he found at the nurses’ station. 

The sudden light blinded him with it's intensity for a few seconds. He quickly blinked away the dark spots from his vision, only to see a field of white and red. 

Bodies, everywhere. 

He knew this was no accident as they were neatly lined up in rows, covered in sheets. Despite the growing turbulence of his feelings, Rick shuffled through the parking lot. 

He wheezed and clutched his side as the toll of not moving for months on end slowly caught up with him. Honestly, he was surprised he had made it this far. 

Other coma patients could barely sit up when they first woke. But Rick was starting to feel it now, his atrophied muscles protested to every step and he longed to lie down amongst the bodies and sleep it off. 

But his intuition was adamant, he couldn’t stop. In his state he was vulnerable to any form of attack, he was basically no better than a newborn at this point. 

Still, he shuffled on, reaching the street. 

Rick chose to ignore the alarming amount of blood that had dried on the pavement beneath his feet. He had to keep moving, that was the only way he could think of handling what he had just seen and what it implied.


	2. For the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Morgan and friends!  
> It's going to be a little different as i'm working with an accelerated timeline.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

Rick stood in front of his house, trying to see past the door hanging off its hinges and the smashed in windows. 

At least there was no blood. 

No blood was good, it meant they could still be alive. Slowly, he made his way up the porch steps and inside. 

His feet were aching - hell, his whole body felt like it was on fire with the exhaustion, fear and pain racking his every nerve. 

Now that he was inside, Rick could no longer deny the obvious; Nobody had been here in months. Everything was gone or destroyed, furniture was overturned and trash littered every available surface. 

It looked like someone had squatted here briefly before moving on if the empty cans and chip packets were any indication. 

As it was now, the place felt alien to him. 

The memories he had shared with his wife and son seemed like a different life entirely - one he would never be getting back. 

Suddenly it hit him full force, knocking him to his knees in the middle of the empty living room. The realisation that everything was gone,  _ they  _ were gone. 

And he might never see them again. 

He refused to even think that they might already be dead - it was too painful to consider right now. He didn’t cry - hadn’t since he was a boy and despite how much he loved his family, he couldn’t bring himself to shed any tears. 

Instead he sat there, rocking silently back and forth as he stared out the still open front door, his face feeling tight with emotion. 

After what felt like hours, Rick finally pulled himself together enough to stand up. He made his way upstairs to his and Lori’s bedroom, trailing his thin fingers over the pencil marks on the wall in the kitchen for a moment - measurements of Carl’s growth over the years. 

He remembered the boy’s proud smirk when he had finally surpassed the last measurement he’d had when he was eight. It had taken him two years. 

No doubt to Carl’s dismay he would be as short as his mother, he didn’t take after Rick all that much. Only the eyes gave him away as Rick’s son, otherwise he took after Lori completely with her pale skin and hard-headedness. 

He sighed, eventually reaching the room they’d once shared. He’d been hoping to find some of his clothes still here, but no such luck. 

The place had been thoroughly cleaned out. Rick was disappointed to say the least, he had hoped to be getting out of this dirty dress that showed way too much at the back. 

At least he hadn’t run into anyone yet, he wasn’t keen on anyone seeing him so vulnerable. 

He knew he couldn’t possibly be the last person alive, but Rick knew the population had to be a fraction of what it was, at the very least. Whatever it was, had hit humanity hard and fast.

It was a depressing and scary as hell thought to have. Rick left the house, his neck slick with sweat as the sun beat down on him relentlessly. 

Oh how he wished he’d had the forethought to fill up some bottles of water before leaving the hospital. He was sorely regretting it now. 

But he’d been so disoriented and had just one thing on his mind; getting home. Getting to somewhere familiar. Now he was in desperate need of a drink, his tongue felt like sandpaper against his mouth as it seemed to swell to twice the size. 

Another wave of exhaustion crashed over him and he sat on the concrete stairs that led to the road in front of his house. 

He was unaware of the man coming up behind him with a bat. He only registered pain before darkness engulfed him. 

 

“-ey…..HEY!” 

Rick startled awake, coming face to face with a man about his age but with dark skin and a shaved head. 

“What are you….?” he trailed off as he realised he was handcuffed to the headboard of a bed. The cold steel of a blade was pressed against his throat, digging in just enough to be painful, but not to draw blood.

“You fucking try anything funny--” the man didn’t finish, he didn’t have to; the knife against Rick’s jugular made it pretty clear. Rick nodded as much as he could. 

Satisfied, the man sheathed his knife and leaned back out of Rick’s personal space. 

“Name’s Morgan….” the man started off conversationally, as if he hadn’t just threatened another man’s life. 

“....Rick…” He managed to croak out, maneuvering the wrist stuck in the handcuff so the metal wasn’t biting into his skin so much. 

“Sorry, y’know, about that. We don’t usually get visitors of the  _ living  _ variety all that much anymore.” He said, gesturing to the cut Rick could feel bleeding on the side of his head. 

"Here, I'll clean that up for you. Least I can do…" Morgan leaned across the bed to grab a small metal box with a red cross on it. He smelled of whiskey, smoke and death. 

It was a strange combination that left Rick feeling queasy. He'd never liked alcohol, not since his Dad took up the bottle after getting kicked out of the army. 

Rick and his Ma were a constant target of his frustrations. There were a lot of dark days in his childhood, which to him only made Lori shine all the brighter. She was his guiding light out of the darkness. 

It was because of her that he managed to not fall into the same pattern when Carl was born. But things had changed between them,  _ she  _ changed. And suddenly he found himself always on the losing end of an argument as he tried to reason with her.

He was pretty sure she was gearing up for a divorce when he got shot.

Rick was brought out of his melancholy thoughts by a twinge of pain above his brow. Morgan had just finished sewing up the wound and was patting it with antiseptic when their eyes met. 

There was a certain glint in those dark orbs and Rick paled slightly. There was something off about this man, Rick could tell. 

He'd dealt with all sorts on the force and developed a sense for this kind of thing. Regardless, Rick played along, nodding in acceptance and understanding. 

He didn’t know what kind of man this new and harsh world moulded him into. And he didn’t really want to find out. 

He didn’t know what he was capable of, this could go south very quickly. Morgan looked relieved, smiling down at his captive. 

That was when something Morgan had said snagged in the back of his mind. 

“We?”

Immediately Morgan’s eyes lit up in fevered excitement and began undoing Rick’s restraints. 

“Yeah, me, my son Duane and my wife Jenny.” Morgan was positively beaming now at the mention of his family, making Rick relax minutely. 

Okay, so it was less likely this man was as bad as Rick had initially thought if he could sound so happy just  _ mentioning  _ his family. 

“Would you like to meet them?” Morgan asked excitedly, already hovering by the door. Rick sat up on the bed, swinging his legs over to touch the cool wood beneath. 

His gut was still adamant that there was something strange about this guy, and Rick always listened to his gut.

It’d never led him astray before. But he had no choice but to follow. 

It was only when they descended the stairs into the kitchen that Rick realised where they were; in his neighbours' house. 

It was right next to his house, actually. The first thing he noticed were the boarded up windows and the back door completely sealed shut. 

It was the same for the living room, windows boarded up and covered with a thick black blanket stapled to the wall.

There was the unnerving sound of growling coming from outside, along with shuffling feet and bodies bumping uselessly into each other and the house. 

“Are those...things out there?” Rick whispered, quickly walking over to the blanket and pulling it aside enough to see out of the window between the boards. It was nighttime, late night, if the high position of the full moon was any indication.

Morgan shoved Rick out of the way, nervously fiddling with the blanket until he was satisfied it covered all the windows properly. Then he whirled on Rick.

“What the HELL were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed!” Morgan hissed, frantically running his hands over the fabric one more time. He immediately felt like an idiot. 

Even though he only vaguely understood what was going on, it was enough to realise that those things out there might be attracted to movement. 

Not to mention the light coming from a small gas lamp that sat on an upturned milk crate at the edge of the room.

He didn’t know what those things were, but he knew they were dead people. But the only one he’d come into contact with that was actually ‘alive’ had been nothing but a torso, spine dragging behind her as she seemed to want to follow him. 

So, understandably, he was a little in the dark about some of the finer details of this new world that was filled with walking corpses. 

“S-sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Rick stuttered as Morgan loomed over him, hand on the knife strapped to his belt. And just like that, Morgan was back to singing praises about his family. 

The family that seemed to be nowhere in sight. 

The feeling in Rick’s gut intensified when Morgan led him to a door that no doubt was the basement entrance. 

“Your family’s in the basement?” Rick asked cautiously, nevertheless following the other man down the wooden steps that groaned under their weight. 

Morgan looked back at him like  _ he  _ was the crazy one. “Well, yeah. Can’t have them roaming about, now can I?”

Rick chose to remain silent on that one, trying to stop his increasingly panicked thoughts from showing on his face. Morgan was either a terrible person, or he was crazy. 

Maybe both. 

Eventually they reached the bottom, where a disturbing sight greeted them. There were two dead people chained to the back wall of the basement, one on each corner. 

The woman, Rick assumed was Morgan’s wife, just stood in the corner, occasionally tilting her head as if she was hearing things nobody else could. Maybe things only the dead could hear. 

The sight of the boy vividly reminded him of the gore he’d seen at the hospital and he fought to keep himself in check. Half his face was missing, looking like the flesh was torn right off. 

Blackened blood still trailed down his chin in an oozing, thick mass that looked like it would never reach the ground. Just like the woman’s, his skin was deathly pale and sickly-looking with haunting shadows under his colourless eyes. 

The boy was more active than his mother, stretching toward Rick and his father as much as the chain around his waist would allow. 

His thin arms reached out to Morgan in a sick parody of a toddler wanting to be picked up. And despite the obvious signs of death that clung to his family, Morgan smiled softly -- but thankfully kept his distance. 

“Jenny, Duane, I’d like you to meet Rick. Rick, this is my wife and son.” 

The way Morgan beamed proudly at his decaying family sent a chill of fear down his spine. Something wasn’t right -- other than the man driven mad by the isolation of losing his only companions, and the rotting corpses in front of them. 

Icy fingers seemed to grip at the base of his spine, making his movements stiff and reluctant. It came to a head when they reached the back corner of the basement and Rick was tackled to the ground. 

The knife was once again pressed to his throat, this time purposefully digging in and drawing blood. 

Rick gasped in surprise and pain, realising that Duane was dangerously close to them now, jaw lightly opening and closing in anticipation. 

“Don’t worry, son, you won’t be going hungry tonight.” Morgan soothed, shoving Rick to the ground before swiftly driving the knife into his thigh.

Rick cried out in pain, attracting the attention of the wife who was now shuffling over, cocking her head to the side and making eerie clucking noises with her tongue. 

Rick’s heart beat erratically in his chest as he looked around wildly, searching for a way out of this. Morgan’s grip was too strong and made all the more dangerous with that knife now back to his throat.

So Rick, his mind scrambling for a solution, thought back to the tactics they were taught for hostile situations when they were at a disadvantage. 

“Please… we…..we can work this out.” He begged, already forming the next sentence from the sheet in his mind's eye when Morgan just laughed, startling him. 

“What’s there to work out, Rick? My boy’s hungry, look at him!” 

A hand forced Rick’s chin to look at the poor lost soul in front of him, tiny fingers scratching desperately at his hospital gown but too far away to do any real damage. 

_ God _ , he was only a little older than Carl. Grief twisted his heart, the poor battered and shrivelled thing that it was.

It was in that moment Rick knew there was only one way out of this, there was just no reasoning with someone obviously so far gone. 

So Rick put to use all that time he’d spent training to be a man of the law and after some struggling he managed to get a foot to the man’s chest and promptly kicked him off with his good leg. 

It worked, the knife flew out of Morgan’s hand and skittered out of reach next to the bottom of the basement stairs. 

While Morgan was in pain and disoriented, Rick took that opportunity to bring him into a headlock. He squeezed and squeezed, hoping to make him pass out with the lack of oxygen but it was taking longer than he’d thought and Rick was easily growing tired again.

_ ‘Dammit! _ ’ Rick shouted in his mind furiously, he needed to think quickly before he was overwhelmed again. 

The minimal light from upstairs filtered down the steps and seemed to purposefully direct Rick to the glint of metal near the stairs.

Right, the knife. 

With a grunt, Rick slammed Morgan against the wall furthest from the basement entrance and made to dash for the only weapon in the room. 

Only his leg was caught by an enraged Morgan before he could get far, pulling him to the ground as his wound throbbed painfully. 

Rick frantically kicked out at his attacker again, thankful when a blow finally connected and he was let go. Morgan stumbled back with the force of it, right into the waiting arms of his son. 

Rick wouldn’t be proud of what he did next, but he was too stricken with fear and righteous fury to think about it. Rick scrambled up the stairs, knife in hand and closed the door with a bang. 

He locked it for good measure while trying to ignore the pained screams and the sickening sound of tearing flesh as he stumbled through the house. 

But now that he could take a breath, he was haunted by what he’d just done --left a man to die-- and he only came back to his senses when the basement quieted down, leaving the house to sit in silence as Rick limped through the house. 

He looked around now that he wasn't in danger, finding a surprising amount of stuff. Morgan had managed to accumulate quite a bit in this house. 

Which made Rick once again wonder how long he had been stuck in that bed for. It couldn’t have been long, but the way everything looked now went against that. 

A painful throbbing brought the wound on his thigh to attention and he grimaced. He remembered Morgan stitching up his wound, the white box flashing through his mind.

Rick sent a dubious look to the stairs, wondering if he would be able to make it. He huffed, it was just his luck that the thing he needed to patch up a wound  _ on his leg _ , was up a flight of stairs.

Somehow, through sheer willpower and no small amount of pain, he finally,  _ finally  _ managed to get up there.

"Thank God!" He whispered, spying the small medkit on the other side of the bed. The wound wasn’t wide, but it was deep--probably needed stitches. 

It was painful, and he'd needed to stop a few times. But in the end he did it. It wasn’t hard, he’d seen people do it hundreds of times on TV and in movies. 

He wasn’t a doctor but he still knew how to deal with most injuries. Rick put fresh gauze over it, taping it down and fell back onto the mattress, exhausted. 

Sleep was easy to come to him, though he woke a few hours later and made his way downstairs to where all the supplies were.

He stuffed a duffle bag and a pack full of food; some preserved in cans, some in packets and all the bottles of water. Even the empty ones went in. 

Rick didn’t know for sure, but they might come in handy. He found some clothes; a simple grey shirt and black jeans, which he eagerly exchanged for the horrible gown he was wearing. 

A satisfied grunt left his lips when he slid his now socked feet into a comfortable pair of hiking boots. 

Rick looked out of the cracks in the boards on the windows and saw that it was already quickly approaching daylight.

_ ‘Good.’ _ Rick thought, throwing on a nice jacket he found that was lined with fur and had a hood. Grabbing his pack, Rick pulled up the jeans that were already falling down his too thin hips in frustration. 

He needed to find a belt and soon. He glanced one last time at the simple dark wood door in the kitchen, now hearing a faint scratching sound as the door handle jiggled languidly. 

Rick felt a sting of guilt, regretting how rashly he’d acted. Throwing a man to the literal wolves didn’t sit right with him. 

Not. One. Bit. 

But Morgan tried to kill him, he only acted in self defence. No one would blame him. 

Still not entirely convinced, but not knowing what else to do, Rick pried the boards off the front door and headed out into the morning sunlight armed with nothing more than a kitchen knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgan's a little..... different than what we remember him at this stage. But I'm going with the theory that because of the generators working in the hospital, the respirator and multiple fluid bags would have worked on keeping him alive a lot longer so he has woken up later in the timeline. And, yes, Morgan's sooooo OOC it's not even funny. but it was just a different spin on when he eventually cracks after losing Duane.
> 
> Also there are no guns in the house because Morgan discarded them as Duane died because of his inability to shoot his zombie-wife. 
> 
> Either way I hope you guys liked it! and constructive criticism is always welcome, just be civil about it!


	3. Sheriff's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a gathering supplies chapter before he heads out. 
> 
> Any suggestions on where to head first? seriously would love some ideas cause i'm still undecided.
> 
> Doing some research i found out that with good hydration, a person can survive up to like 2 months without actual food. crazy, huh?
> 
> So yes Rick has woken up a month later than in canon. in canon he only woke up a month into the apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i found this map thats marked out all the walking dead areas and explains what's happened there. so hopefully the places i take him to will have more detail. though it's from the comics, not the show so things might be a bit different from either as i have only seen the show.

Surprisingly, Rick only ran into a couple more of the walking dead -- which led him to the conclusion that the only way to stop them was through the destruction of the brain. 

Because of this learning experience, Rick had a close brush with death more times than he’d like. 

But he remained unscathed for the most part, he didn’t want to find out what a bite from one of those things could do. 

He'd seen the movies for that and it didn't look pretty.

At this point he only had a rough idea after seeing Duane with half his face gone, but he didn’t want a hands on experience of what that felt like, thank you very much. 

Rick trekked the familiar path through South Miller st and onto East Pleasant, aiming for the police department. 

The building itself was only a block away, on the other side of the small forest that separated it from his street. 

That was where he now stood, breathing harshly and wondering how such an important building could have remained so untouched. 

He smiled, this was good news. It meant there might be some stuff left he could use. 

Rick pulled out the set of keys he’d gotten from his house when he doubled back to see if he’d missed anything.

Seeing those keys gave him the idea of seeing what was left of the station, if any of the guns and ammo were still there. 

For such a small county, they had an extensive weapons locker. Also Rick wanted to see if the generators were still up and running. 

He didn’t know how long it had been since this new world had taken over the old one but the generators had enough power to last anywhere from three to four months. 

He hoped it still had some juice. Rick unlocked the side entrance, keeping a lookout for what Morgan had called Walkers. 

It was only mumbled at some point during their tour of the Thompson’s house--Rick’s next door neighbour.--but he'd heard it anyway.

It was pretty obvious what or who he was talking about. Once inside, Rick could see that the place hadn’t remained as intact as the outside indicated. 

He quickly dispatched of two Walkers that were once his friends and colleagues, driving the knife into their skulls with a grimace.

He went to the weapons locker first, grabbing an empty duffel bag and filling it with guns and numerous piles of ammo. 

Rick strapped the colt python to his hip, using the belt to keep his  _ goddamn pants up _ . That was when he noticed the blood splotch on the side of his jeans. 

He’d completely forgotten about the stab wound from Morgan, his dumb ass probably pulled a few stitches. 

Great. 

Clearly walking on it was not on the list of ' _ good things to do to heal a wound _ '. Rick decided he’d have a look when he was going to use the department’s showers. 

It was one of the few places here that had its own generators and its own water tanks out back to draw from. 

He had to check how much power it had first though. 

Now that he was once again aware of it, the pain made it that much more annoying to descend the basement steps and limp over to the generator. 

He peered over at the sightglass on the side and saw that it was half full. Two months…. He’d been in that hospital bed without proper food for  _ two months _ . 

The world ended two months ago.

How was he still alive? An image flashed in his mind. 

He hadn't taken notice before but now that he thought about it, there were multiple empty bags of fluid hanging up on that glorified hat rack back at the hospital. 

That is definitely more than the standard, someone made sure he’d have enough fluids to stave off dehydration. But that still doesn’t--Rick sighed, it didn’t matter. 

He was alive and he had to focus on getting back to his family, if they were still able to be found. 

It would take some kind of miracle for him to be able to see them again after so long apart in this new and harsh world. 

But he would do it. If only to see Carl one last time.

Rick shut off the basement lights and made his way upstairs and to the locker room. After two months sitting in his own filth, he  _ really  _ needed a shower. 

There were no walkers in the showers waiting to pounce on him, he made sure before stripping down to his birthday suit.

 

God, he was so thin. Rick could almost count each and every rib, looking more like a skeleton with skin than a man. It was horrifying to see himself like that. 

Rick looked away and stepped into a shower stall. It took him almost half an hour to do a ten minute walk because he needed to stop every few minutes to have a rest. 

He knew it was mostly stubbornness that was keeping him standing. Most others in his condition would be too weak to move.

His muscles groaned in appreciation when the hot water leached the fatigue out of them. He made sure to lather up every inch before rinsing off. 

_ 'It's been a while since I've had a beard,' _ Rick thought as he stared at himself in the mirror. Mainly because Lori didn’t like them, but he decided to keep it this time. 

He liked the way it made him look; a little wild and rough. 

For years played the role of ‘officer friendly’ to the good people of King county. Now he could do what he wanted. 

Things weren’t the same anymore, the dead had risen and were eating the living. No one was going to kick up a stink about a beard.

When Rick got out of the shower he dried himself off, being careful of his injury. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers he’d scavenged from ‘lost and found’ before sitting up on the counter to have a look at the wound. 

He peeled off the soiled gauze, waving his hand in frustration when the tape got stuck to his fingers. At least it stopped bleeding, that was good. It meant Morgan hadn’t nicked a vein or artery.

But he  _ had  _ torn through the stitches, he would need more. Rick grimaced, it wasn't really an experience he was eager to repeat.

They had a box of first aid under the front desk in one of the drawers. 

Rick pulled on a clean shirt before padding through the hallway to the front of the station. 

He was startled by the walker pressed up against the glass of the front door, police radio thumping between her leg and the door as she tried to get to him. 

Melissa, she had been a new recruit a little while before Rick had been shot. She was nice, bought everyone doughnuts every week.

Rick regrettably had to ignore her for a moment, he needed to take care to this damn hole in his leg. It looked like it was just her outside anyway, he didn’t need to put a knife through her brain just yet. 

Rick continued rummaging through drawers until he found what he was looking for. “Hah!” Rick hooted triumphantly, bringing the med kit back to the bathroom. 

He sat on the bench again and opened up the box, pulling out a needle and some thread. 

He wiped the area down with a wad of antiseptic, hissing at the stinging pain it caused and began stitching himself back together for the second time. 

The pain slowed his progress but he still managed to power through it. Once he was done, he tied it off and slapped a gauze patch over it before wrapping it with a bandage.

Rick finished dressing and headed back to the weapons locker-- _ slowly _ \--to grab another empty bag so he could stuff it with other supplies. 

He filled up as many empty bottles as he could with water and jammed them in the bag. 

Rick also took the feminine hygiene products he found in the bathroom, thinking these would be like cotton  _ gold  _ to any woman he happened to run into. Especially Lori.

The first aid kit went in as well as one of the long distance radios. If he was going to find his family, he’d need some way to communicate with other people. 

The pain in his leg wasn’t bad, but he shoved the painkillers he found hidden in the break room in the bag as well. Maybe he’d need them later. 

Finding the pills made him remember that there was a pharmacy just down the road from the station. Was it worth making another pit stop? Next door was a small convenience store where he could find some non-perishables like beans and spaghetti. 

Rick shifted from foot to foot, thinking about it. It would be good to stock up on any medicine he or his family might need in the future, but at the same time it would be too much to carry. 

Two duffel bags and a backpack was too much as it was. That was when he remembered Melissa, she had car keys strapped to her belt.

He didn’t know if it would have any gas left in it, but it was worth a shot if it meant he could take anything he wanted with him. 

She was still at the door, dead eyes fixed on a spot to the left as her forehead pressed against the glass, smearing black blood all over it. 

Nice. 

So they weren’t really aware of his presence unless he made some noise. Could they smell him too? 

Rick thought about how best to approach her, should he just open the door or go around and attack her from behind? 

He scouted the area behind her as much as he could before coming to a decision. When he got closer and unlocked the door, Melissa started scratching at the glass eagerly. 

It really was only her around the immediate area so he felt confident in opening the door and driving his trusty kitchen knife through her skull. 

Everything went quiet again as she slumped to the ground at his feet, motionless and truly dead this time. Rick rolled her onto her back with his foot, not really thinking she’d come back and bite him but still cautious. 

The keys jingled in the quiet of the small town, catching the morning sunlight. ‘ _ It’ll be a hot and sunny day,’ _ Rick mused, unhooking the keys and going in search for the car.

He would load up before walking to the pharmacy, he didn’t want to waste gas as it would no doubt become more and more difficult to find. 

Rick found it parked haphazardly at the back of the station, the door open and a bloody handprint on the window. At least it wasn’t all over the seats or something. 

Rick could guess how Melissa died, how she’d spent her last moments on this Earth in pain as she watched the horror of the apocalypse devour their little town. 

Rick suppressed a shudder, sliding into the driver’s seat. There was about two thirds of a tank left, that would get him further than he’d originally thought. 

Instead of turning the ignition, Rick just unlatched the parking brake before getting out and pushing it down the slight incline of the driveway to the front of the building. 

Or as close as he could get without exhausting himself. He made it to the side entrance before black dots spotted his vision and he had to stop. 

This was good enough. 

After regaining his breath and draining a bottle of water, Rick had a small breakfast--not sure how much his body could handle yet, while also wanting to make his supply last as long as he could--before getting to work loading the squad car with his spoils.

He made sure to lock it just in case and headed down the road to the pharmacy, carrying the backpack he’d pinched from Morgan. 

Rick had emptied everything into one of the other bags so he could fill this one with medicine and whatever he found in the store next door. 

He met another walker on the way, this one a teenager he remembered pulling up for a DUI last year. 

He had a suspicious looking hole blown through the center of his chest, bruises decorating the rotting flesh around his face. 

There must have been a panic when news got out that the world was ending. Rick couldn't imagine how bat-shit everyone went.

He went down easily enough. So did the two inside the pharmacy. All the windows had been boarded up and the grass out front torn up by a couple of cars. 

Rick jiggled the door handle, finding it surprisingly unlocked. Once inside, he found the front shelves empty. Disappointed, he tried the back of the store, where they kept prescription medicine and the real hard stuff. 

He had to kick the door open when he’d found it locked, which of course tired him out and he had to take a quick breather. 

There was a walker in there, just sitting on the ground against one of the shelves. Rick guessed they worked here and locked themselves in once the shite hit the fan. 

There were many pill bottles scattered about the small storage room, all empty. He didn't have to guess what happened. His lips thinned into a grim line.

The walker looked lethargic, like he could barely move. Was it from the drugs? 

It was interesting to see that something like this could affect them to this degree. Rick put him out of his misery and then began sifting through the shelves, seeing if there was anything left. 

Anything useful anyway. Rick immediately discarded the various opiates, not interested in making himself vulnerable to attack because he wanted an ‘escape’. 

He didn’t need the temptation. He did, however, take all the aspirin, antibiotics, band-aids, antiseptic sprays--everything that seemed like it could come in handy. 

With that done, Rick decided to head back to the car and find a map. He didn’t know where to go next. But either way, he couldn’t stay here. 

He needed to find his family or at least someone to watch his back. Dangerous times, these were, to be on your own.


	4. On the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay, took me a little longer to write this one. sorry, my imagination seems to be running out of steam.

“Shit…” Rick didn’t normally curse,  _ ‘it wasn’t good for Carl’ _ Lori told him, but he was alone now and was free to express his displeasure at the current situation. 

Warranted it, even. The cruiser puttered to a stop as Rick eased it to the side of the road. Out of gas. He was most of the way to the only major city he could think of going to; Atlanta. 

The government would have set up outposts and checkpoints that people could live in to keep them safe. Some might be still up and running. 

Rick thought it was unlikely, though. But he had to try. The hospital looked like it had been set up as one, now it was dilapidated and full of holes. And the bodies, the blood. 

He sighed, there was no use sitting around doing nothing. He needed to find a gas station, or people. Rick ran a hand through his hair, quickly discarding his jacket over the back seat. 

It was getting hot, he probably woke up at the start of summer. Wonderful. 

He made sure to lock the car, after grabbing a canister from the trunk and heading out. Didn’t want anyone stealing his shit. 

Rick followed the road, weary of hidden fingers in the forest that seemed to stretch out toward him, hungry. After a few minutes of silence, Rick heard a scream pierce the air. 

Without thinking, Rick unsheathed his knife and the python, dropping the cannister. He ran in the direction of the scream; over to the left and into the trees. 

It was then the moans of the dead made themselves known.

“Ah, shit.” Rick sighed, quickly and quietly dispatching of the few walkers that stumbled too close for comfort. The scream came again, accompanied with a gruff “No!” which helped Rick to pinpoint where he needed to go. 

He found a clearing, two men trapped between a herd of walkers and the rocky face of a small mountain. One of the men, the bigger one, was clutching his side as he swung wildly at the walkers with a machete. Blood pooled through his fingers and made lazy tracks on his white wife-beater. 

The smaller man had longer hair and was a lot calmer, though he still looked like he was panicking. He kept stealing glances at the older male, simultaneously knocking arrows into his crossbow and accurately taking down one walker at a time. 

Rick didn’t have to think about helping them, years of handling a gun chose for him as he was already taking down walkers with the python.

Together they dramatically thinned the herd until it was just a couple left, which Rick took care of with his knife. He didn’t want to waste bullets unless he had to. When the danger passed and they were coming down from the surge of adrenaline, the larger man collapsed with a grunt of pain. 

“Merle!” The smaller man shouted, momentarily forgetting that loud sounds attract the dead. He ran over to his brother, discarding his crossbow in favour of pressing a hand to the wound in his side to try and stop the bleeding. 

Rick knew immediately that it wouldn’t help. He could guess what made that hole in his side and he would bet that nothing would save him now. Rick approached slowly, making sure to keep them within his sights at all times, they were  _ strangers  _ after all and he’d seen how accurate he was with that crossbow.

When he got close enough, Rick could hear the dying man whispering things to the younger, calling him Daryl. Merle smiled and touched his brother’s cheek with bloody fingers before his body fell limp and let out his last breath. 

Before Rick could offer any condolences, a silently crying Daryl drove a previously hidden blade into the skull of his brother. Rick elected not to say anything as he waited for the man to collect himself, after a moment, Daryl stood and picked up his crossbow and the machete. 

He looked as if he made to disappear back into the forest. Rick couldn’t let that happen, he needed someone capable like Daryl if he was going to find his family. Plus, it couldn’t be safe for either of them to be wandering alone in the woods where a herd had recently blown by.

“Wait! I need your help!” Rick called after the other man, relieved when he stopped. His back was rigid with tension and he refused to turn around. But he’d stopped nonetheless, and that was something in Rick’s book.

“I’m looking for someone -- well, my wife and son. I think they might have been heading for Atlanta and I was on my way there--” He said in a rush, Daryl cutting him off before he could finish. 

“Atlanta’s gone.” Daryl said tonelessly, and continued walking. Rick ignored the pang in his chest when his hopes were squashed, quickly beginning to panic when it looked like Daryl didn’t plan on sticking around. 

“Wait! Hey--I have a car full of supplies! Food, medicine and ammo!” Rick jogged, trying to catch up with the other man’s quick strides but quickly tiring. Daryl suddenly stopped and Rick almost crashed into his leather vest-clad back. Rick thought the angel-wing design strangely suited him. 

“How much?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his eagerness behind a disinterested mask. Rick wanted to beam smugly, but refrained considering that Daryl joining him wasn’t a sure thing yet.

Still, it was progress. 

“Why don’t I show you? My name's Rick by the way.” Rick said innocently, trying not to fidget. What if what he had wasn’t enough? Or worse, what if Daryl was planning on robbing him? Rick tried to reign in his growing anxiety as Daryl reluctantly nodded. 

It was a surprisingly long walk back to the cruiser, filled to the brim with tense silence and the occasional walker. When they reached the road, Rick saw a curious sight. A walker was trying to open the driver door.

' _ It must be left over muscle memory or something _ ,' Rick mused. When she couldn’t open the door, she growled lowly and sniffed the air. That was when she noticed them. What was perhaps a curiously humorous moment quickly devolved into hostility as the walker lunged over the hood of the car in an effort to get to them. 

Rick thought  _ he  _ was quick, but he had nothing on Daryl -- who was already releasing an arrow. Unsurprisingly, it landed between the thing’s eyes, piercing the brain and cutting off whatever was animating the dead.

“Man, that was weird. It was like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs.” Rick commented, shoving the corpse off the hood of his car before fishing for the keys in his back pocket. There was a snort behind him and Rick smiled to himself, pleased that the previously stiff atmosphere had all but dissipated between them. 

“Or seeing a cat bark.” Daryl agreed, making Rick’s smile widen. He unlocked the car and let Daryl ‘peruse his wares’, as it were. He didn’t think Daryl would steal from him or hurt him unless he had a good reason. And so far Rick hadn’t given him one. 

So he felt pretty confident he wouldn’t have to worry about the man shanking him in his sleep. Daryl whistled appreciatively before emerging from the back seats. Rick relaxed imperceptibly. 

“So, uh, you don’t have to help me--but I thought we could travel together for a while?” He ended on a question as it was completely up to Daryl if he wanted to ride with a complete stranger that could be looking to flay him during the night and wear his skin like a cloak.

Rick drew up short. Where the fuck had  _ that  _ come from?

_ 'You know what? I'm not going to think about it.' _ He forcefully pushed that train of thought aside and instead tried to focus back on Daryl, who had taken to giving him a strange look--probably for his extended silence and staring off into space. 

“Sorry, a lot on my mind these days.” he tried to play it off as a harmless quirk, even as Daryl’s unconvinced turn of his mouth said otherwise. 

“Right.” he said anyway, before pulling out a map from seemingly nowhere. Rick startled when he slapped it onto the hood of the cruiser. 

“Where did you….?” Rick shook his head, dismissing his own question and looked more closely at the map. It wasn’t too detailed and the paper was frayed at the edges and in specific lines where Rick guessed it had been folded and unfolded many times.

Rick glanced over at the other man as he muttered to himself about where would be their next destination. Did this mean he accepted? If it did, then Rick felt reassured that he now had someone to watch his back in this dangerous new world. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I ran out of gas.” Rick said sheepishly, avoiding looking directly at Daryl. He did, however, feel the incredulous gaze burning into his temple. There was a moment of silence before Daryl sighed, resigned. 

“Right,” he said again and started looking on the map for the nearest gas station or anything that might have what they need. They would figure out their next step once they had some gas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What'cha think?
> 
> where should they head next? what plot devices should i keep from canon?
> 
> your input is both needed and greatly appreciated.


	5. The Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to set off! 
> 
> we learn more about how Rick's outlook already differs from cannon. Not as naive.
> 
> we meet the gas station zombie blah blah blah.... i'll let you just read it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Daryl chose to stay and guard the car while Rick went out and searched for gas. It was a reasonable request, especially since it was his fault he ran out of fuel so quickly, driving as fast as he had been. 

So Rick walked… and walked, following the route Daryl indicated on the map. He seemed to know his way around here, maybe Daryl and his brother had lived here before the world went to hell in a handbasket. 

Rick felt a shudder roll down his spine, the way that man had died was harrowing to see. The second he was bitten, that was it. His fate had been sealed. It was disconcerting how quickly things can go downhill these days. 

One minute you’re hiking in the woods with your brother--the next you’re being stabbed in the head because a corpse nibbled on you a bit.

Rick knew that Daryl had done the right thing, the merciful thing. But he was still a cop in many ways and it rubbed him the wrong way, the gesture seeming callous and cold. It wasn’t though, he knew that. 

If Daryl hadn’t felt anything about killing his brother then why had he been crying? He was brought out of his brooding by the sharp sound of metal clanging against metal. He was here, the only fuel station around for miles. 

He refused to feel disheartened when he saw what was making all that racket. It was a sign strapped to a pole that declared there was no gas left. The sign had holes punched through it that looked suspiciously like bullet holes. 

He looked around and hope started to bud in his chest when he saw all the cars parked haphazardly in the car park and around the building itself. They had to have something useful. There was a strong chance one of them had some gas left in the tank. 

Rick gripped the canister he’d found in one hand, the hunting knife Daryl had given him in the other as he scanned the area for any walkers. The place seemed pretty deserted, but Rick knew from his years on the force that looks could be deceiving. 

And, true to form, he heard the now-familiar sound of shuffling feet. They were light, quiet and seemed to pause every few moments. He ducked behind one of the cars to spot a small girl ambling through a particular string of cars. 

It was as if she were looking for something. Rick considered calling out to her until she turned around and he saw that a substantial chunk of her cheek was missing and blackened blood oozed from her exposed jaw. 

Rick watched with a knot of regret forming in the pit of his stomach as she once again turned around. So that was why this place was abandoned; the people that had lived here had already been lost to the dead.

It was a sickening feeling to see a child roughly the same age as his own succumb to such a cruel ending. He thought about the fear she would have felt in those last moments, the despair and helplessness as everyone around her--the adults meant to protect her--were torn apart by something that should have never existed. 

Something that was supposed to only be seen in horror movies, until now that is. No, now reality had become the horror movie and there was no way to escape it. Rick felt lightheaded as that realisation sunk in. 

They would never escape this nightmare. 

Rick didn’t fancy anyone finding a cure, this ‘ _ disease’  _ had simply spread too quickly and he was pretty sure it was  _ everywhere  _ at this point. He didn’t know if it had started here in the U.S or somewhere else but Rick was sure it was all the same. 

The child surprised him by walking up to the car he hid behind, bending and then straightening back out this time with a stuffed teddy bear clutched in her deathly pale fingers. She didn’t notice him, and instead continued shuffling through the line of cars now that her prize had been found.

Rick stared at her retreating back, dirty flaxen hair being pushed around by the slight breeze that picked up. Was it another bout of muscle memory or was a part of her still in there? The thought that her soul might still be trapped in that rotting vessel she once called a body was incredibly distressing. 

He just imagined watching helplessly from inside his mind as his body ate people, peeling off their flesh as they screamed. Oh God, what if she was the one that brought this place down? Then Rick thought about himself in the same position, hunting down his wife--his son and…. And--Rick couldn’t bear it. 

He chased after the dead girl, cringing when she turned at the sound of his approach and started snarling. Her slippered feet scraping the concrete as she tried to charge at him. But he was too quick and had the knife buried deep into her temple before she could do more than open her mouth uselessly like a fish out of water. 

Her colourless dead eyes slid shut as she collapsed on the ground at Rick’s feet. He felt like a monster in that moment. The rising of the sun over his head brought him back to reality and he shook off the foreboding feeling that had settled around his heart. He was here for a reason after all. 

He took a deep breath and began searching the cars closest to the exit and working his way in. It would stand to reason that the cars most likely to be able to drive out of here would still have some fuel. 

So that people could either go out on supply runs or split if things got hairy. That’s what Rick would do, anyway. Which turned out to be smart because on the fourth car he tried, there was at least half a tank in there. He wanted to whoop in triumph but didn’t think it was wise making more noise than necessary. He didn’t want to draw a herd his way, even if it looked like the coast was clear. 

Rick wasn’t stupid, you know.

Rick unscrewed the fuel cap and slid the hose into the tank, releasing a deep breath before he began to suck on the hose. Once he felt liquid touch his lips, Rick quickly let it fall into the canister at his feet. 

He did this to many of the other cars even though they only had little bits of fuel left. Every drop counted if they wanted to make it anywhere. When Rick returned to the cruiser it was late in the afternoon, the sun quickly retreating behind the tree line that dominated either sides of the road. Daryl was asleep in the backseat. 

Rick unlocked the driver door and pressed a button under the seat to pop open the panel on the side of the car, once again unscrewing the fuel cap and lifting the nozzle of the canister into the opening. The sloshing of petrol finally woke the light sleeper and Daryl stared wide-eyed at the sheer amount of gas going into the tank. Even when the tank was full, there was still some left over in the canister. 

“Rick, You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch.” He said, partly in awe before rolling over to grab the map and handing it to the other man once he was back in the driver’s seat.

Daryl had circled any possible places they could find more supplies and/or other people. He seemed leery of meeting new people, but Rick couldn’t blame him. This world had made people into something else entirely, something more dangerous without the restraint of modern society holding them back. 

Rick thought back to Morgan and his family, wondering if he was still down there just as dead as the rest of his family. Or if he’d managed to escape. Either way his time was limited as Rick distinctly remembers rotten teeth tearing into the man’s flesh. 

Rick noted that the CDC was circled. He’d thought that all government buildings would have been long gone. He told Daryl his thoughts and the man nodded, acknowledging his assumption. 

“Yeah, but a group me ‘n Merle were runnin’ with were thinkin’ about heading there to see if there were a  _ cure _ .” He sneered the last word, echoing Rick’s earlier thoughts about how unlikely that would be. Rick hummed in response, blue eyes roaming the map. 

He debated with himself whether it would be better to go more rural to avoid the masses of dead at the risk of not being able to gather supplies or to get closer to the cities and hordes in order to find more food and other necessities. 

Eventually he decided to risk it and go towards the more populated areas in hopes of finding both people and provisions. Daryl hesitated but ended up agreeing with him. With their new destination in mind, Rick started the car. He turned it around to go back down the road he’d originally come from, passing Cleveland on highway 75. 

They would travel by main roads for as long as they could, finding it easier to navigate than the smaller back roads they could easily get lost in. But if it came to it, he would rather back roads than traffic snarls and hordes of walkers. 

Rick looked in the rearview mirror to see that Daryl was once again asleep, arms crossed but a relaxed look on his face. Rick smiled, it was a testament to how much the other man trusted him if he was willing to let his guard down around him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it getting too mundane? like should something awesome or gruesome happen yet or is it too soon? i kinda think its too soon, but i do have some things planned..... mwahahaha.... till next time!
> 
> i'm loving this so far, mainly because of the support in the comments, it keeps me motivated to keep writing.


	6. Brooding

Despite the sunlight shining down through the cruiser’s windows, Rick felt cold. He looked through the rearview mirror at Daryl, who was still in the back seat only now he was sharpening the few crossbow bolts he had left.

Rick had been thinking and wondered why a survivalist like Daryl would team up with someone like him? Rick didn’t know anything about hunting, or about staying in the wild. He’d only recently learned about the new world order, still trying to get used to the fact that people - no, corpses - wanted to eat him.

Was it just for the supplies he had? If so, why didn’t he just take them and run? Or worse kill Rick and take the cruiser? The more Rick thought about it, the more it made sense. He shook his head then, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was being ridiculous and getting himself worked up over nothing.

Still though, being more cautious around the guy couldn’t hurt right? Lori always said he was too trusting, which she had used against him more than once. Their relationship had been rocky at best before the apocalypse, but he still loved her somewhat...loved Carl at least. Yes, he needed to find Carl. Rick just hoped they were heading in the right direction.

As if to contradict him, they ended up hitting a traffic snarl a few miles out. He heard a few mumbled curses from behind him before Daryl got out and started pushing cars in an attempt to make way for the cruiser.

Rick blinked, confused as to why the normally quiet hunter seemed so agitated. He didn’t think there had been any reason for him to be angry. Nevertheless, Rick helped Daryl move the cars blocking their way, simultaneously scanning them for things like blankets, clothes, medicine, food and anything else that might prove itself worthy.

He managed to find a gas cooker of all things in the trunk of an old station wagon and some plastic utensils. The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time they were done. It would only continue to get darker and Rick knew that it would be not only stupid but dangerous to drive around at night.

Daryl seemingly agreed, now calmer than before, as he pulled out the map and spread it over the hood of the cruiser.

“There’s a cottage a few minutes west of here,” he stated, ultimately leaving it up to Rick whether to do the safe option or the stupid one. Rick rolled his eyes and started up the cruiser.

He wanted to bring it as close to the cottage as possible so they could have a quick escape if anything went wrong. The road quickly turned to hard-packed dirt with bumps and dips, surrounded by trees that towered over them. Eventually the cottage came into view and Rick parked in front.

Daryl got out first, crossbow in hand as he checked the surrounding area for any walkers. Rick peered through the grimy front windows but he couldn’t see anything. When the other man gave him the okay that everything was clear, Rick decided to try banging on the door to see if any of the dead would come out.

Daryl confirmed his theory that they respond to sound more than anything else, that and movement. A few seconds later there was the now-familiar sound of shuffling feet and quiet moaning as an elderly woman came into view from what Rick assumed to be the kitchen. She wore a dirtied and ripped nightdress, her white hair puffed out in a thin halo around her grey coloured skin.

Rick was disheartened to see that she had a wedding ring on her finger. Rick only had a moment to consider where her husband might be before a portly walker stumbled out of the upstairs window, landing headfirst on the hood of the cruiser.

Rotted brain matter splattered the windshield as the walker’s bones crumbled under the force of the fall, leaving the husband nothing but a stinking mess on the ground as it slid off the car.

‘Well, nevermind then.’ Rick thought sardonically as he simultaneously tried not to lose his lunch. “Oh, gross.” he heard Daryl mutter in disgust before Rick opened the door of the cottage and quickly dispatched the woman. He dragged her corpse out of the cottage and placed her ‘round the back.

He wanted to avoid dealing with the husband, but he knew he couldn’t just leave him there to stain his windshield.

'After dinner', Rick decided. He grabbed some beans and a can opener from the car, making sure to lock it when he was done. With that done, and the keys safely stowed in his pocket, Rick went back into the house to find Daryl setting up a mattress in the hall by the back door. Rick nodded to him, it was smart to sleep right near the exit in case something happened in the night.

It looked like a smart idea so Rick quickly copied him, moving the only couch in the room next to a large window that could only be opened from the inside. It was well past dark by the time they were fully settled and with their bellies full, they turned in for the night. The sky was only just beginning to lighten when Daryl shook Rick awake.

Rick was about to protest when Darryl shushed him and drew his attention to the sounds of a truck pulling up outside. Together they packed up the gear they’d taken inside and watched cautiously through the windows, thankful for the low light and the thick layer of grime hiding them from immediate view. 

There were a group of around five or six, two hung back in what they’d originally thought was a truck but turned out to be a white van. When it looked like they weren’t going to leave, Rick decided to try going out the back window and maybe get to the cruiser while the men searched the house. That way they could make a clean getaway from a potentially hostile situation.

Daryl wasn’t entirely enthusiastic with such a risky plan, until he saw the men starting to poke at the hunk of goop that had originally been the husband. It was ‘fresh’ which meant they would know people had been here recently and if they found out what was in the car, they would take it without thinking twice and like hell Daryl was going to let that happen.

He moved away from the wall adjacent to the front of the house, making his way over to Rick’s side on the other end of the room by the window.

“How’dya want to do this?” Daryl asked, making sure to keep his voice down. Rick thought about it for a moment; they were heavily outnumbered and didn’t have enough ammo on them to win a head-on confrontation. There was more in the cruiser, obviously, but that wasn’t an option right now. His years on the force were telling him all five of them looked like they knew their way around a fight.

The one on the far left was slightly turned away from the house, relieving himself on the half-dead rose bush lining the driveway. He had a shaved head, scars crisscrossed along the patches of skin that were visible between the fabric of his wife-beater. His prized intuition was oddly silent and he couldn’t tell if it was a warning sign that shit was about to hit the fan or not. Suddenly there was a metallic thud as if someone had just booted the side of a car.

This made Rick pause at the back window, one boot on the counter.

“Hey! We know you assholes are in there! Come out and give us your shit or we’ll huff and puff, and blow this joint down!” One of them, a big burly man with a hunter’s cap cocked the rifle in his meaty hands in warning.

“Okay, we need to distract them somehow - get them away from the cruiser so we can leave. They clearly aren’t the chatting type.” Rick landed silently on the overgrown garden bed behind the house, knife in one hand, gun in the other.

The more seconds that ticked by, the harder it became for Rick to follow through with the plan. What if they couldn’t get to the cruiser, do they just book it and forget about all the supplies in there? Even if they did manage to get away on foot, what if they ran into a herd? And how would they get to Washington without a car?

That’s where Daryl had said a large group were headed and more survivors meant more of a chance of finding Carl…..and Lori. Do they distract or go on the offensive despite the odds? The man’s next words certainly didn’t help their case. 

“Oi! You pussies done discussin’ yet? We still got other camps to raid, ya know!” there was laughter and then the sound of boots against wood. Rick considered his options. He couldn’t wait too long on making his decision. He knew realistically the only way they could get out of this with their supplies was to take them head on. There was too many to simply distract, they would need to overpower them and quickly leave. For that, they needed an edge, the element of surprise.

It seemed like the best route to take. Rick turned to Daryl, who had been watching him with a funny look on his face.

“Okay, you go left, I’ll go right. Do what you have to, we need that car.” Rick whispered back just as he heard a window being broken and men’s voices growing louder.

“Shit, they’re in the house.” Daryl cursed, notching an arrow on his crossbow. They listened for a moment before Rick reluctantly gave the signal to attack. This just got a whole lot more complicated now that they had to watch their backs. After a moment or two, there was a gunshot and Rick heard a pained shriek. While he was distracted, there was a blow to his head from behind and the world went dark.


	7. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a little too short before so i combined it with what was chapter 8

His head hurt. That was the first thing Rick knew as consciousness slowly, languidly returned to him. Rick opened his eyes, squinting in the low light. “Oh, good. You’re awake.” A male voice commented jovially from somewhere on his right.

Rick’s body felt heavy, the cold concrete digging into his side. When he was finally able to focus on what the voice had said, Rick realised his hands were bound behind his back. It wasn’t rope though, but a zip tie that was too tight and made his hands throb painfully. The man was still speaking, but Rick wasn’t listening.

He was too focused on trying to get his bearings. Suddenly he was wrenched upright onto his feet. He swayed a little, dizzy from the sudden movement but a strong hand on his arm made sure he didn’t collapse. A young face swam into view. It smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes. Their mouth was moving, they were saying something. Rick tried to make himself listen.

“.....to me? Hey, can you hear me? What’s your name?” the man said, his voice too hard to come from such a young face. Rick blinked and looked around, odds were he had a concussion. That was probably why he was having such a hard time focusing, fighting the urge to just close his eyes.

“Rick.” He said, his throat was dry and his voice came out as little more than a rasp. He was heard regardless though as the man smiled once more and stepped back.

Rick hadn’t realised how close he’d gotten. What was he doing here? How did he--then he remembered being hit in the head. He remembered the men that were going to rob them, their taunts. Daryl…. Where was he? Rick surveyed the large room but couldn’t find the hunter.

“Looking for your friend? We shoved him in a box until we could decide what to do with you guys.” the man replied to the unspoken question. A shiver of foreboding went through him then as it hit Rick that he was at their mercy.

“What do you want?” Rick asked, a bead of sweat rolling down his back. It was hot outside and though most of this place was made from concrete, there were large windows surrounding the high ceiling. Like a warehouse. Instead of answering his question, the man just put his hands together behind his back and asked a question of his own.

“Tell me, Rick. What is the largest bone in the human body?” Rick blinked at him, confused at the new topic that seemingly came out of left field. The largest bone? Was he serious? “The femur, or thigh bone.” Rick answered anyway, only now noticing that the man - Gareth, he eventually found out - now was wielding a lead pipe.

Dread knotted in Rick’s stomach as his brain provided him with different scenarios, all of them awful.

“Correct.” He didn’t even have time to blink before he was hit. Pain exploded from Rick’s left leg as he could feel something cracking. His shout reverberated off the walls and Rick was forced to stand on his now broken leg by the pair of arms behind him. Gareth whistled appreciatively.

“You’ve got a good pair of lungs there, mister.” Then he leaned in close to Rick’s face, not minding that the older man was panting heavily.

“You know, I think I figured out what to do with you. The other one, he’s not as fun. I might keep him in the box for a while, but you… well, you’re different.” There was a grunt as Rick was punched hard in the solar plexus. It made him gasp for air, even though every breath hurt. Gareth just laughed, dropping the pipe - which clattered to the ground loudly and echoed throughout the room.

“Oh, I could tell today was going to be a good day!” Gareth exclaimed, pulling out a carving knife.

  
The sound of an electric saw greeted Rick the next morning. When he opened his eyes he noticed he wasn’t in the same room as before. He was now in a much smaller place that had a long, steel trough in the middle and metal tables set up in neat rows across from him.

But not all of them were empty. There was a sick wet sound as the saw tore through flesh and bone. The man holding the saw was wearing a splash mask and a plastic apron with gloves. Another, dressed similarly, peeled the skin from the chopped bits and separated meat from bone.

Nothing would be wrong with that if it were an animal, but it wasn’t. Dread pooled in the pit of Rick’s stomach as he realised what was happening. He had seen dead bodies before, it was in the job description - but this was entirely different. This was a slaughter house for people. Rick shifted and was painfully reminded of his injuries, the broken leg being the worst of them. He was sitting up this time, back against a wall but he wasn’t alone.

Whimpering brought his attention to the other occupants in the room. Several other people were chained to the wall just as he was. One of them was Daryl. Rick felt relief when the hunter looked over at him from the other side of the line. He looked to be okay, apart from the split lip and the bruise blossoming over his cheek. But he was okay.

Then Gareth walked in, clipboard in hand. He looked over the men’s handiwork with the corpse and nodded appreciatively. It made Rick want to vomit, but he had nothing left in his system to expel.

“Good morning everybody!” he exclaimed, sizing each of the captives up before writing notes on the clipboard. When it was Rick’s turn to be assessed, Gareth frowned and compared the width of Rick’s forearm to his. He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he wrote. A few minutes passed by in tense silence, the only sounds were the scratching of Gareth’s pen on paper.

The men with the saw had stopped what they were doing and were now waiting by the trough. Gareth sighed at the results on the clipboard before stepping back to survey the group one last time.

“That one goes first.” He said, gesturing to a heavy-set man that started wailing when he realised what that meant. The two men dragged him over to the trough and secured his bindings so he couldn’t move. He was positioned so he was leaning over the edge, head bowed. He begged them for mercy, but that only seemed to enrage Gareth, who promptly kicked the man in the side.

“Mercy? You want mercy?” His face was dangerously close to the other’s, a wild look in his eyes. He grabbed the man by the hair and wrenched his head backward painfully, ignoring the man’s panic.

“Where was the mercy when they came, took our camp? Where was it when our women were being raped and our men beaten to death? ANSWER ME!” Gareth shouted, successfully scaring the man within an inch of his wits as he sobbed loudly. Rick scrunched his nose in disgust when the smell of urine filled the air. Sure, this was a scary situation but there was no need to be so pathetic about it.

Though Gareth’s words had struck a chord. Suddenly he could understand why their motto was ‘you’re either the butcher or the cattle.’. If they had truly been treated that way, it was no wonder their humanity had been all but shattered. It gave them no excuse to go around kidnapping people to eat them, of course.

No matter how they were treated, they shouldn’t prey on others and become just as bad as their enemies. It would only lead to a never-ending cycle of hatred and evil - which was something the world didn’t need more of right now.

Gareth sighed, “I’m done with him, do it.” He ordered the two men that had been standing back and observing the entire exchange passively. Now they stepped forward, one with a metal bat and the other with a long knife. Rick was surprised the heavy man hadn’t passed out from the hysterics his body was being put through.

He cringed when blood filled the trough, flowing down into a convenient drain. They used the bat to stun their victims and sliced their throats before they could regain their bearings. It was sort of humane in a way, if it weren’t for the horror Rick was feeling when they dragged a second up to the trough. Once the blood stopped, the knife was quickly plunged into the brain to prevent them from reanimating - something Rick only found out because Gareth didn’t have an ‘inside’ voice.

So they were all infected, then. You didn't need to be bitten to turn. The implications sent a shiver of fear down his spine. Rick’s heart skipped a beat when strong arms went to lift him up. But then Gareth’s voice rung out.

“Not him, he’s too skinny. There’s barely any meat on him.” And just like that, he was dropped back into the line, whimpering in pain. God, his leg hurt. So. Damn. Bad! Three were left after that, Rick, Daryl and a woman who looked like she had given up.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Put them in the hole.” Gareth ordered casually as he strolled out of the room. Rick sighed in relief; they were okay. For now. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but hopefully things would get better for them. It didn’t.

3 weeks later  
Rick woke in darkness, his leg throbbing painfully. God, it hurt so much. He stretched it out, hoping against hope that it would heal correctly. But he knew that if they got out of this alive, he would be walking with a limp.

He let out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. How things had changed so drastically gave Rick whiplash. He woke up from a coma to find his whole world gone and replaced with a nightmare. And now he was most likely going to be eaten by cannibals, like there wasn’t enough of that going on outside the gates of Terminus.

Rick had the feeling of being watched and rose from his musings to find he wasn’t the only one awake so late. He could just make out Daryl’s eyes in the limited light flowing through the holes of the train car. He could tell it was nighttime by the colour of the light. It was silvery and not very strong, making it obvious that the moon had risen.

How long had they been in here for? The woman had been taken a few days ago, and Rick doubted he would ever be seeing her again. Rick feared for not only his life, but for Daryl’s. He couldn’t help feeling that he was responsible for the situation they had found themselves in.

Sure it wasn’t his fault the Terminus people were cannibals, but he did inadvertently lead himself and Daryl to a place where they could be captured. If he had done things differently, if Daryl hadn’t agreed to come with him - well, he hoped that Daryl would have been better off without him.

“You’re overthinking it.” A gruff voice startled Rick, his hand flying to his hip only to realise he didn’t have his gun. Daryl shifted uncomfortably at the action. It had been the first time Daryl had spoken since being here and Rick honestly didn’t know how to respond.

“What?” he blurted, continuing to stare at the hunter wide-eyed. Daryl crossed his arms, glad for the low light as he couldn’t handle the other man looking at him like he had two heads.

“I mean, this ain't your fault. Shit happens.” he explained finally, letting out a huff of air when Rick finally looked away. It was Daryl’s turn to jump when Rick suddenly threw his head back and started laughing. It was a real, deep in the gut laugh that sort of scared the hunter as he didn’t think the situation was funny at all.

As he was coming down and his laughs turned to the occasional chuckle, Rick wiped his eyes and apologised.

“Sorry, no, it’s just that’s the understatement of the year, Daryl.” Daryl still didn’t really understand, but decided to drop the subject and they once again fell into silence. Though he had only known the man for a few days before they were brought here, he felt like Rick was changing and it sent a chill down Daryl’s spine. It wasn’t just tonight that Rick had shown some unexpected reactions either.

A week ago Rick had been in another ‘session’ with Gareth--He didn’t get the guys obsession with Rick--and he came back with his clothes torn and a multitude of bruises and cuts. All he would say about was that it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looked’.

Ever since then, Rick had been different. He didn’t know yet how much the torture affected him or what strictly happened in those times when Daryl was left alone. But he knew he was afraid of the hard glint that would appear in those blue eyes every so often. Daryl just hoped they could get out of here before this place completely destroyed the man he had begun to think of as a friend.


	8. The Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like it. it's fresh off the keyboard.

It was a few months before anything interesting happened. Since that talk with Daryl, the concern in the other man’s eyes never left and he was starting to get sick of it. Rick wasn’t weak, he wouldn’t let them break him.

Maybe the things he experienced these last months changed him, but he wasn’t broken.

He also wasn’t sitting idly by, waiting for the next session. Rick had been working on a way out. He had torn the zipper from his jacket and worked on the wooden beam supporting the frame of the train car.

It took a long time to wear away the wood until he was able to pry off a chunk that he then sharpened into a makeshift dagger.

But he did it, and by the next round up, he was ready. He had never killed anyone - at least anyone living. But strangely he didn’t feel any reservation about what he was planning to do.

A sense of calm determination filled him as the door opened and his eyes met Gareth’s. The man mistook his expression as one of defeat and smiled, motioning for Rick to follow him.

‘Show time.’ Rick thought with a thrill of anticipation. They were a few meters from the train car when there was an explosion to their right.

People started flooding into the camp, having broken down the front gate. They were screaming like Spartans as they charged, effectively scaring the shit out of Gareth’s people. It surprised him, but he made sure to take advantage of the distraction they provided.

While the cannibals were busy shooting the newcomers, Rick took this opportunity to use his ‘dagger’. Gareth didn’t have time to react before his throat was torn open, splinters digging into his veins. He fell to the ground, Rick on top of him.

Rick didn’t know what came over him but it was like everything else blurred out of focus as he drove the stake into Gareth over and over again, despite the fact the man had died of blood loss over a minute ago.

Blood splattered his own face and it wasn’t long until the fighting had stopped.

After taking over the camp, they watched this frail-looking man take his revenge. They were impressed by the savage way he tore at the corpse, he would fit in nicely. The leader pulled out his gun and shot the corpse in the head when he started to reanimate. The shot startled the man from his trance and blue eyes looked up at him. Those eyes catalogued every human’s position before he stood, stake still in hand. Yes, he would do nicely.

  
Daryl was shocked and somewhat disgusted by the scene that greeted him when the wolves opened the door to his prison, the one he'd spent the last four months in. Because of his relationship with Rick, Owen - the leader of the wolves - let him leave Terminus alive. As he gathered some basic supplies, he saw the words ‘Wolves not far’ scrawled on the tin wall of the carriage in blood.

He cringed and looked over at a practically catatonic Rick standing over what used to be his tormentor. Daryl wasn’t mad about what Rick had done, he would have taken revenge too. Just maybe not so violently, and it was the mess Rick made of the other man that concerned him the most. As he left Terminus behind, there was one recurring thought in Daryl’s head.

He needed to rescue Rick, get him away from these savages before the man was completely lost. They had been fast friends and over the past few months being trapped together only furthered their relationship. So much that Daryl felt a responsibility towards Rick, he needed to do this for him. He needed to help his friend.

That was a funny thought, as Daryl never had any friends before Rick. Considering the life he led before the apocalypse, it was no wonder he couldn’t connect with others. But with Rick it had been different, he had been able to connect with him instantly.

Rick had given him something he never thought he would have; a friend. And for that, he would help his friend. So Daryl hid and waited for the Wolves to finish scavenging Terminus before following them at a discreet distance.

Once they got into cars though, Daryl lost sight of them. He wasn’t deterred, they left their mark on every place they raided so it was easy to track them. It was like they were leaving breadcrumbs for him to follow.

It took weeks before the Wolves decided to stay in one place for more than a day, which was somewhere in Virginia near the shore. Rick could barely feel anything anymore, he was numb to the violence around him.

The Wolves were nomadic, they didn’t have a permanent base like a pack of real wolves would. His leg was healed, though he was right about the limp - it wasn’t that bad but it was noticeable. The Wolves didn’t mind if he fell behind a little while walking long distances, they made sure to keep him in their sights and would slow down if he got too far behind.

From the outside the group looked like a bunch of savages that would tear each other apart over nothing, but that wasn’t what being a Wolf was really like. They were a close-knit pack of survivors and Rick could appreciate their willingness to look after each other. It’s what made them strong, that and their ruthless nature towards outsiders.

At the beginning, before the apocalypse, Rick wouldn’t have been able to stomach the kind of things these people did. But now he was finding himself almost desensitised to it all. Owen explained that there were many packs spread out across the country, and each ‘Alpha’ had a radio used only to contact the other packs if they needed help taking down a camp.

Owen’s pack was only ten strong, including Rick - who had filled out nicely after getting three meals a day for the past month and a half he had been with them. Rick’s thoughts occasionally wandered back to Daryl and how he was doing. Had he met up with that group at the CDC? Or was he still alone? Rick had no doubt the man was alive, he had been a survivor long before the apocalypse.

Rick was brought out of his thoughts when a bowl of hot soup was put in front of him. Aphid never spoke, only removing the mask from his mouth when it was time to eat. The other man sat down beside him on the log and stared into the small fire solemnly.

They stopped for a while at an empty trailer park to gather themselves. The Wolves had been travelling practically non stop since Terminus and it was nice for Rick to finally relax. Rick had been a part of the pack for over a month now, but Owen never made him go through the typical initiation all wolves did.

His forehead was free of any ‘W’ scar, and Rick wondered why. He was happy he didn’t have to disfigure himself for these people, that happened enough times at Terminus. But it did make him wary of the other wolves. He kind of felt like a bit of an outsider sometimes, like he was just along for the ride.

“There’s someone watching us.” Owen whispered, back suddenly straight as his ears twitched. The others put down their dinner and grabbed their weapons, which were never far. Rick, too, unsheathed the machete he had been given and scanned their surroundings. The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he saw a glint in the darkness.

“Sniper!” He shouted, getting down on his belly. He exhaled, stirring up the soft dirt beneath him when a shot was fired.

He saw one of the wolves go down beside him, Aphid was dead. There was another shot, then another as the Wolves tried to fight back. But the sniper was too fast and kept changing positions. Rick stayed on the ground, hidden from view by the log he had been sitting on. It was the smart thing to do, something that the Wolves didn’t really get as they kept trying to charge into the woods with their knives.

One by one they went down, all shot in the head - a merciful death in this new world. When the shouting and shooting ceased, Rick dared to raise his head to look over the log. There were men emerging from the clearing, three of them. The leader was an older man with a graying beard and motorcycle jacket.

Rick put his hands up in surrender when they spotted him, raising their guns.

“Hold it, guys. He doesn’t look like a wolf.” The leader said, stepping closer to Rick’s position. Rick slowly got to his feet, keeping eye contact with the leader. The man nodded and Rick relaxed minutely as the others started rifling through the supplies left by the now dead Wolves. One of them picked up a bowl of soup and began drinking it, not minding the blood that contaminated it.

“I’m Joe, these are my guys and we are called the Claimers.” The leader introduced each member of the ‘claimers’, Rick not bothering to remember their names. He wouldn’t be sticking with them, that was for sure. This became a firm belief when another of the claimers brought Daryl into view.

“Found this guy spying a few yards back, what do we do with him?” The man asked, looking like he already had something in mind. Joe scratched his beard, considering Daryl, before looking to see Rick’s reaction to the man.

“You know him?” he asked, picking up on the jump of panic in the other man. Daryl was pushed to his knees, looking like the claimer had roughed him up some before turning him in. Rick nodded, hoping that like with the wolves, he could set Daryl free. But as he looked over at Joe’s expression, that was becoming a more unlikely scenario by the second.

“Kill him, he’s useless to us.” Joe ordered, picking at the dirt under his nails. Just as a knife was pressed to Daryl’s throat, Rick stepped forward in alarm.

“No! You can’t do that! He’s my friend!” The claimers laughed at Rick’s exclamation, amused by the fact that he would say something so stupid. Friends, family, lovers - they were a weakness that could get you killed. Everybody knew that, and those that didn’t would die pretty quickly around here.

“Your friend?” Joe repeated, a mocking grin on his face as he motioned for his men to grab hold of Rick. His arms were pinned behind his back at a painful angle, but Rick had learned to ignore the pain and instead glared at Joe. Daryl stayed silent, knowing that anything he said would probably only make things worse. He swallowed nervously against the steel pressed to his throat.

“Yes.” Rick emphasised, his heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of a fight. The wolves had taught him to embrace that violent, primal side that resided in everyone. He loved the feeling of power and control so much it had his blood racing.

“Well, in that case…” Joe trailed off, flicking his wrist. The claimer holding Daryl pushed him onto his back and began throwing punches. Rick struggled against the hold on his arms as the men laughed.

When Daryl whimpered in pain, something inside Rick snapped and he saw red.

“Stop it.” He whispered, voice steady despite the situation. Blue eyes bore into Joe’s as the air seemed to chill around them.

“Stop it!” He repeated, headbutting one of his captors in the chin and managing to escape their grasp. He made to run to Daryl, to help him, but he was caught around the middle by Joe. With his arms pinned to his sides, there was not much Rick could do by way of getting out of the bone-crushing embrace the older man had him in. He was surprisingly strong for someone of his age and Rick was turned around to face him.

“What are you going to do now, huh?” Joe asked the shorter man, confident Rick couldn’t even breathe at this point. The sickening sound of a bone breaking tugged at Rick’s memories and pure, savage anger filled him. It set his gut on fire and he tensed to strike, wrapping his jaw around the vulnerable part of Joe’s throat like a snake. Before the other man could do anything, Rick used all his strength to bite down on the soft flesh there.

Joe screamed, trying to pull back, but that only succeeded in his throat tearing. Blood spurted from the wound as Rick was left standing there with a hunk of skin in his mouth. He immediately spat it out, hating the taste and idly wondering how Gareth could do it.

Things happened fast then, the other Claimers pulling out their guns. From years of training, Rick was quick to pick up Joe’s gun from the ground and started firing. He shot the one standing over Daryl in the heart, allowing Daryl--though injured--to jump into the fight. With Rick’s tenacity and Daryl’s skills with a knife, they soon brought down the rest of the claimers.

Sunlight broke through the haze of early morning when they were done, illuminating the corpses surrounding the two men. Daryl made sure to drive his knife through each head before finally collapsing from his wounds.

Rick couldn’t help the giddy grin that took over his face. With his beard stained red and streaks of blood on his face and clothes, it made for a gruesome sight. As the claimers had done to the wolves, Rick began collecting what gear they had, discarding any useless trinkets some of the men had picked up.

‘And so the cycle continues’ Rick thought, finally coming to sit beside a passed out Daryl as the birds sang from the trees.


	9. Injured, But Stubborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long for this one, i got stuck.

“Seems to be a cracked rib.” Rick surmised, gently prodding the bruised skin on Daryl’s torso. Daryl grunted in pain and jerked away. 

“Hey, you’re lucky a piece didn’t break off and stab you in the lung. Which could still happen if you don’t  _ take it easy _ .” Rick stressed, straightening as Daryl picked up his bow. 

He could see how much pain he was in, but the man was stubborn and refused to settle down anywhere to heal. Rick knew from experience that it would hurt just  _ breathing _ , let alone doing anything else like bending to pick up a crossbow. 

Rick huffed with exasperation, but followed the mule incarnate through the woods anyway. They had considered trying to go back to Atlanta to find the cruiser but Rick knew that Daryl wouldn’t be able to protect himself if they ran into anybody else, or worse, a horde. 

Atlanta was quickly becoming known as a hotspot for walker activity. So they pushed forward, mostly keeping to the woods but still within eyesight of the road so they knew where they were roughly. They didn’t have a map anymore, after all.

Rick’s ears had become more sensitive since running with the wolves, so it wasn’t a surprise when he took down two walkers to the right of Daryl before the man could load a bolt. He was changing, becoming more comfortable in this world. 

It felt easier to travel through the woods, taking care of walkers and hunting for food than it did a year ago. Rick had spent the harsh winter with the Wolves, and he discovered that the cold slowed the walkers down quite a bit. 

But there was no snowfall, which was strange as he remembered the winters back home were brutal. Did the change in weather have something to do with the walkers? Rick thought it was unlikely as this seemed to be a virus that affects only humans like it was their own personal extinction event. 

Rick snorted, as if he would accept that. Though he noticed that over time and with the weather shifting, he hadn't seen anymore of that muscle memory stuff. The walkers were reduced to gaping holes of hunger, the glint of past humanity completely gone. Was the virus mutating?

Sure, he was sceptical of a cure but that didn’t mean he was just going to lie back and take it. If it was mutating, what was to stop it from just taking the living and turning them into walkers straight up instead of waiting for them to die? 

Before his time at Terminus, the sole reason for his continued survival was to find his family, but now it was also to spite whatever deity was laughing at them from above. 

No matter what they threw at him, he would not break. That steely determination had kept him warm during the winter, sizzling in his chest like a ball of fire. 

Daryl eyed him with a cautious air, Rick had changed more than the hunter had originally thought. He didn’t know what to think about that, about the efficiency and practised ease the other man killed with. 

Whether it was an animal or a walker, it was the same look in those blue eyes. Like he was…. happy. It both unnerved Daryl and sent a tingle of excitement up his spine. Just how far would Rick go? Until he was nothing more than an animal himself? 

Or would he managed to balance out? Becoming a true survivor and the strong, consistent presence Daryl needed in his life after losing his brother? Daryl decided to not broach the subject of these changes Rick was undergoing in favour of finding out the kind of man he would become. 

Daryl looked forward to what the future might bring for the first time in his life. He was experiencing a lot of firsts since meeting Rick, come to think of it. 

Though they mostly travelled in silence--which he didn’t mind, not at all, mainly because he wasn’t much of a talker himself--Daryl always felt it to be a comfortable type of silence, like they didn’t  _ need  _ to fill it with chatter because they understood each other already. 

Or something like that. Plus, having a kid and a wife like what Rick had described, the man probably never had enough of it pre-apocalypse. 

Daryl was just happy he wasn’t alone again like when he was younger and Merle was off in Juvie, leaving him with their father. Daryl tried not to think of that too often, instead focusing on the squirrel to his left that thought he couldn’t see it. They were going to have stew tonight.    
  


They were rifling through a traffic snarl when Rick heard it; a faint growl. He whirled, gun out in one hand and knife in the other. What he saw almost brought him to his knees, heart pounding in his ears. 

It was Carl. 

The chestnut brown hair he had gotten from his mother was pasted to his forehead with blood. Rick could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he looked at his boy. 

“No…” Rick whispered, pain blossoming in his chest. 

Carl shuffled forward, arms by his side and head cocked to the side. Those eyes, those once crystal blue eyes were now drained of colour and splotchy with decay. His mouth opened, showing black gums and missing teeth as another faint noise emanated from what Rick was quickly realising were damaged vocal chords.

That must have been how he….Rick felt sick looking at the torn up throat before him. Carl was quite a bit taller and broader than he remembered, but Rick figured that was normal after being apart for so long. He would have grown since then. 

Rick stood frozen, unable to move as his son advanced. The little arms rose as if asking for a hug and Rick was tempted to give him one, it would be the last time he could, after all. Then it hit him, his son was gone. 

Rick gasped from the grief mounting in his chest. It felt like it would crush him. Carl was upon him by the time Daryl had loaded a bolt, pushing him to the ground. There was the quiet  _ thwack  _ of the arrow hitting it's mark before Carl lay limp on top of him. 

Rick cried out and carefully placed his son beside him and got to his knees.

“Rick?” Daryl asked, seeing the tears on the other man’s face, it was the first time he had seen him be so openly vulnerable since reuniting with him a couple months ago. Rick’s head snapped up and it felt like a film was removed from his eyes and he could finally  _ see _ . 

The world seemed brighter, the colours around them richer. He looked down at the body in front of him and was startled to see that it wasn’t Carl at all. How had he mistaken this blond, brown eyed teenager for his Carl? 

Now that he was looking, really looking, they were nothing alike. Relief dissolved the stone in his chest and he felt ten times lighter. Carl was still out there, he was still alive. Rick wouldn’t think of the other possibility until it was shoved in his face with irrefutable proof.

Rick stood and wiped his face, picking up the weapons he had foolishly dropped in his shock, sheathing them. He pulled the bolt from the walker’s head and handed it to a confused Daryl who wiped it clean before putting it with the rest. 

He knew Daryl had questions, but Rick felt emotionally drained and didn’t want to talk about what had just happened. 

“Let’s finish this and get out of here before more come.” Rick said, leaving no room for Daryl to speak as he was already walking away. Daryl grunted in frustration, muttering about how it wasn’t healthy to keep all that bottled up inside. 

Nonetheless, he did as told. He didn’t mind following Rick’s lead, he had never been the leader type himself growing up so he was happy letting someone else do it. Plus, he trusted Rick. Everything would turn out okay in the end if he stuck with Rick. 

They travelled a few miles down the road from the blockage to an overhead bridge when Rick was greeted with a gun aimed at him. He couldn’t see them yet, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

He was being watched, and these days that usually came with a deadly promise. Daryl stopped beside him, picking up on Rick’s change in stance and was about to draw his weapon when Rick put a hand on his. 

“Don’t.” was all the explanation he got and Rick continued walking as if nothing was wrong. Daryl didn’t understand, and he felt irritation pick at his insides. He hated not knowing what was happening, especially when the world was so dangerous these days.

Rick sighed when the feeling of being watched was slowly starting to fade the further they got from the bridge. He relaxed somewhat when he couldn’t feel them anymore. He didn’t know what they would have done if Rick had acknowledged their presence. It could have turned very ugly very quickly. 

“Rick, what the  _ fuck  _ was that about?” Daryl asked heatedly, trying not to raise his voice too much. They didn’t want a horde coming their way, after all. Rick turned to his friend and saw the anger in the strong lines of his shoulders.

Rick frowned. 

“Look, I’m sorry I ordered you around like that but someone was watching us.” Rick tried to explain, seeing that it didn’t really do anything to curb the other man’s emotions. Daryl was upset with him. Rick thought it was because he had ‘commanded’ him, but that didn’t seem to be the only issue. 

Daryl adjusted the strap on his bow, kicking a rock out of his way as he stood beside Rick. 

“Why’d you stop me then? You know that not alotta people are friendly these days.” Daryl scrunched his eyes against the rising sun before looking at Rick again. It was almost midday and they would need to find somewhere to hide out soon. 

The days always seem shorter without a clock, having only the sun to tell the time of day. It would be night sooner rather than later, they needed shelter.

Rick wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, it was getting hotter and hotter as the days went by. Rick figured it must be the middle of the year, that was usually when summer came. 

“I stopped you because I didn’t want to risk them shooting at us if they thought we were a threat. It seemed like the safer option. I didn’t know how many there were or what weapons they had--plus, you’re hurt, you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself if it did turn into a fight.” Rick said, knowing that last bit probably stung the man’s pride but he needed to understand that not everything can be solved with violence. 

The Wolves had taught him that it was better to be underestimated and get by without a fight--even if you would have won, there would still be a price.

“It’s not worth the bullets.” Rick said, patting Daryl on the back as they picked their way through the forest this time, they should have stuck to their original plan of using the cover of the trees to hide their journey. Though they couldn’t really do that without a map, they would get lost. 

Daryl thought that it would be more dangerous to get lost in the woods than to be discovered along the road. Especially with night coming. 

But having those eyes on him rattled him and Rick wanted to be hidden for now so he made Daryl compromise. They made sure to keep the road within their sights at all times but stayed within the trees out of sight.


	10. Negan to the rescue! Just kidding, he’s no hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it always looks much shorter when i go to upload it even though on google docs it takes up a few pages..... makes me feel like i'm skimping out on you guys but i know i work hard so i hope you enjoy it anyway
> 
> But there we go! Our first glimpse of Negan! Their first meeting!

_Two weeks later_  

Negan sucked on the lollipop one of his men had found as he strolled through the streets of Alexandria. It was a nice set up these people had - not as good as his obviously, but it was better than some of the others.

It’s just a pity the architect was already dead, could’ve taught the others a thing or two. Negan sighed as he hoisted Lucille onto his shoulder, only sparing the huddling masses a glance before continuing his walk.

He was so _bored_ , Alexandria was one of the most submissive groups he had come across. He just wanted something to happen, anything at all.

Negan was sorely tempted to knock down a wall or two just to see this place overrun, but they were good suppliers as a lot of this area hadn’t been picked clean yet. If he killed them, his own men would have to risk the walkers to pick up the slack and that would just not do.

No, it was on the ride home that something happened. The company pulled over when they heard gunshots, making sure the supply van was out of sight.

They didn’t want anyone getting any bright ideas, thinking they could steal it while they were distracted. There was a scuffle as his men tried to subdue the shooter. Despite the man’s thin frame it took five guys to keep him on his knees.

He had wild brown hair and quite the impressive beard for the apocalypse with bits of grey tainting the brown.

He looked far older and world-weary than he probably was - a gift the end of the world had given them all. Even though Negan’s men were keeping him seated, there was a defiance in the way he refused to bow his head, no matter how hard Dwight pushed on his head.

‘ _He would be fun to break_.’ Negan thought with no small amount of malice.

Negan swung lucille playfully, a large grin on his face. Finally something interesting!

“Well well, lookie what we have _here_!” he exclaimed, crouching in front of the other man. A shiver ran down his spine when he saw those cold baby blues boring holes into his own brown ones.

Negan chuckled, there was a madness behind those eyes that both worried and excited the tyrant. He just _had_ to have him. Negan looked at the four or five guys laying dead on the road and tisked before turning back to those eyes.

They weren’t his, probably the unlucky souls that managed to piss the wildling off and the source of the gunshots as the man was found with only a machete and a pocket knife.

“Looks like you had some fun here, care to share what happened?” Negan asked because he was genuinely curious, there was not a visible scratch on the man indicating a fight but the bodies next to him disagreed.

Their throats had been slashed, some had their guts spilling onto the tarmac--no doubt the smell would attract nearby walkers. The man straightened his spine but said nothing, never taking his gaze from Negan. It felt like a wild animal was watching his every move - not thinking Negan was prey, but instead a credible threat.

That was nice, it meant he wasn’t stupid then.

“Well, we can’t just leave a little thing like you out here to terrorise the neighbourhood, now can we?” Negan grinned before standing, motioning to his men to tie his new prize up and haul him into the back of a truck.

But the wildling had other plans and instead took the opportunity to headbutt Dwight and breaking his nose while throwing pointy elbows at his other guys, eventually breaking their hold.

Once he was free, the wildling was off like a shot straight into the forest, albeit with a limp. Was he injured? It had him curious, no doubt!

Negan looked from his bleeding men laying on the ground to the empty trees and laughed incredulously.

“Well _damn_ , if that wasn’t fucking cool!” He chuckled before getting into the nearest truck, they obviously weren't going to catch up with him and Negan needed to get this shit back to base.

“Next time, for sure.” he whispered, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

Negan bit down on the thin lollypop, breaking it into chunks and chucked the plastic stick out the window. He slammed his hand on the black door of the pick up and they started moving again. He ruefully shook his head.

Well, he’d gotten what he asked for; it looked like some interesting shit was coming his way. Negan couldn’t stop the positively evil grin stretching his lips. He couldn’t wait.

The shrimp of a driver next to him shivered in fear at the sight of that grin, she knew what that grin meant. It meant something horrible was going to happen. She could look at Dwight’s face as proof.

 

Rick picked up the boxes of antibiotics he’d buried not too far from the road where he killed the idiots that thought they could steal from him. They had seen Rick at the pharmacy down the highway and had gone after him, leading to the confrontation on the road.

He didn’t regret killing them, but Rick did regret staying long enough for the Saviours to show up. He’d heard about them from the Wolves, how their leader was a man named Negan that wielded a spiked bat and armoured with a leather jacket.

Rick didn’t want to think about what would have happened if he’d let them take him - especially to Daryl. Rick walked a few miles through the woods to find their tent, a little green thing that looked like a decent breeze would upend it. But it was all they had, considering.

“Hey Honey, I’m home.” Rick joked, not surprised to see that Daryl was still asleep. Through the fever he’d managed to peel off his shirt and kick off the blankets and now he was shivering something mad despite the relatively warm afternoon weather.

Rick sighed and tucked his ‘brother’ back under the scratchy cloth. A tiny part of him just wanted to leave, cut his losses.

‘ _He’s going to die anyway_ ’ it would argue, but a bigger part that still deferred to a moral code disagreed. ‘ _It wouldn’t be right!_ ’ and so on and so forth. All it did was give Rick a headache.

He still knew the difference between right and wrong, it’s just that he was starting to wonder if it was worth the trouble.

He was almost captured today because of Daryl. What if next time he wasn’t so lucky? Negan certainly wouldn’t underestimate him next time. But then Daryl whimpered in his sleep and he felt a rush of protectiveness overcome him. Daryl needed him right now, needed the antibiotics Rick still held in his hand.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave a sick and injured man to fend for himself, no matter how much he changed. Daryl could hardly stand up let alone kill walkers or protect himself from other people if they stumbled upon the little campsite they’d set up.

Rick just needed to be stronger, better. He would have to do the heavy lifting until Daryl could support himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo!   
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any suggestions? Maybe we could brainstorm on motivations, character reactions, plot lines? Critiques? universe lore? It keeps me motivated to keep writing as I always start of with only a vague idea of what I want - which would leave a lot up to debate!
> 
> So come! Discuss with me! I would highly appreciate it!


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